Write On Grrrl

Voice of Empowerment. Not reason.

Signed. Sealed. Delivered?!

When our heroine last left Brown, that's United Parcel Service, not the university or her husband Andre, it was late August. A pair of shoes had gone walking in the 'hood.

Luckily, the kindly folks at UPS have a policy to deal with their ineptness. Yup. No more unannounced drop-offs at our house--sort of like what you hope happens with houseguests. We officially became a signature required stop. I know you're jealous.

As far as I could tell, the only thing that drivers have to remember, now, is not to leave anything if no one's home. You know, to sign. So, I found it a bit odd Monday evening, when Andre and I returned home and found something on our stoop.

Hint: it wasn't a baby.

Now I understand, UPS, that your loss prevention tactics are a bit of a drag. Because if no one's home, you know, to sign, my casa becomes an unloading-free zone.

I get it. So why's it so hard for you?

According to the testy local representative sent my way, via my complaint to world headquarters, the driver had obtained a signature. Damn it. My bad. Andre must be teleporting again. Actually, come to think of it, shouldn't I be the one low on patience, since you're not only calling me at 7:30AM, but also working hard to dispute my story.

No matter. It's a new day. A new package on the way. Surely your men won't let me down.

Later that afternoon, Brown's environmental friendly diesel truck alerts me to their arrival. And what's this? There's not one, but two of their uniformed finest, carrying my package. Whew. Glad that group lift concept's understood, because that sucker does weigh 65 pounds and we wouldn't want anyone to get hurt.

Oh look. And they're super friendly too. I can hear them ask someone walking in front of my house if he lives here. I can assure you that he does not. But it's okay. The pedestrian knows who does: Andre. Only his car's not in the driveway. But maybe his wife's home, so how 'bout I open the gate, ring the bell, and check for you--UPS.

Um, why exactly do you have my neighbor involved?

I opened the door to find my neighbor on the stoop. The UPS men? They're almost out of view, rounding the corner behind the house with my package. No worries, their deputized crew member alerts them to the fact that I was indeed home. You know, in case someone wanted to leave the package inside. Or needed a signature. Or wanted to witness the steam coming out of my ears.

Naturally, that rave performance warranted another call to world headquarters. Someone needs to know what a good job they're doing here in Providence. I found out this time, that someone named Brown did sign for the package the day before.

Brown, you know, as in UPS Brown, because a signature of any other Brown, like, say Andre Brown, would seem to constitute fraud.

I got connected back to the local office too. Found out that my route is a training route. For what? I can't be certain. And that one of the two dudes content with leaving my wooden, antique TV stand in the depths of my backyard? A trainer. Which would probably explain why he scurried away so quickly.

I am certain that everything will be just fine from now on. We've stepped up our security measures to the next level. Code triple red: a signature AND id required for delivery.

I'm just not sure whose.